


Meet me in the Middle

by Miri1984



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, beard battle, snarky buddy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4344428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanan Jarrus and Agent Kallus find themselves stuck in hyperspace together for days. 'Nuff said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet me in the Middle

Since revealing himself as a Jedi Kanan had taken a few more risks with his fighting than he’d used to when he was only armed with a blaster. He could jump higher, dodge faster, get in amongst the enemy and take them out rather than having to stay back and fire. 

Firefights were confusing and no matter how much he planned, tactically he just couldn’t exactly predict where he would end up when the fighting stopped. 

He force swept a path through a bunch of stomrtroopers and imperial agents up the ramp to the small Imperial shuttle in the hangar bay, needing to get to higher ground to see where the others were and if they needed support. Once he was up there he could see that Hera, Ezra and Zeb were right near the Phantom, which was hovering with its hatch open, waiting to pick up the crew. Sabine had really improved her piloting lately, she was steady and calm in light of blaster fire.

“Spectre One we need you at the Phantom,” he heard in his ear. “This Destroyer is going to blow any minute.”

“Get out of here,” he said, force lifting another stormtrooper and throwing them into a row of astromech droids. 

“We’re not doing that again,” Hera said.

“There’s a shuttle _right here,_ Hera, you know I’m perfectly capable of stealing it.”

“Ha! I would have thought you’d be too out of practice.”

“Some things you never unlearn.”

“Roger that. Cut the chatter and let’s get out of here.”

He watched as the others piled into the Phantom, made sure they were clear before deflecting a flurry of bolts into the remaining stormtroopers and racing up the steps into the shuttle.

It was a smaller model — not quite as tight as a TIE, but definitely only meant for at most two crew, and only if they liked each other a whole bunch. He’d not flown something like it for a while, but some things you _didn’t_ forget, especially when the force was your ally.

“Spectre one are you away?”

“Yes Spectre two,” he flicked switches and familiarised himself with the controls, closing the ramp behind him and guiding the shuttle out of the hangar. It handled like a drunken nerf, but he wrestled it into compliance, using the limited weapons to plug holes in a few of the TIE fighters that were giving the Phantom a hard time. 

Sabine docked the Phantom with the Ghost and Kanan allowed himself a small breath of relief. 

“It’s too hot here, Spectre Two,” Kanan into comm. “You’d better make the jump and I’ll meet you there in my shiny new shuttle.”

“We can always do with some spare parts,” Hera’s voice came back. “But you’re going to be a fair way behind us.”

“They don’t make them like the Ghost in the Empire,” he said. “You go ahead, I’ll use the time to catch up on my meditation. Which reminds me, tell Ezra he needs to study that Holocron puzzle I set him.”

A faint groan from Ezra made Kanan smile. 

“We’ll see you in a few days, Spectre One,” Hera said. 

“Sorry we can’t have that dinner, Hera.”

“Oh we’ll just have to postpone.”

He watched as the Ghost shot into the distance, a small pain around his heart following its path, then flicked his own hyperdrive into action, the star trails fading into the blue and white swirls of hyperspace. 

Imperial regulations meant that all shuttles and hyperspace worthy craft were fitted with a bunk, supplies for at least a week, and a simple fresher. It looked like this particular shuttle was used to transport small cargoes — probably medical supplies or dehydrated rations, and would be flown by a single pilot. It wasn’t fully loaded, though, and the small cargo hold tucked directly behind the cockpit only contained a few open, empty crates as well as the standard supplies. It was going to be dull, tasteless eating for the next few days. Kanan’s stomach gave a half-hearted rumble and he curled his lip. Oh well, it wasn’t as though he was going to starve.

He slid out of the pilot’s seat and moved towards the head, thinking he could freshen up and get a few hours sleep. It would be nice to be free of the worry and noise that four people and a droid could inflict on him when he was trying to meditate or go through his lightsaber forms, but he knew that it wouldn’t be too long before he missed them. 

Kanan could count on two hands the number of times he’d felt the press of a blaster barrel against the side of his head. Or at least he _had been able to_ until right now.

It was an all too familiar feeling.

“Don’t move, Jedi,” a voice said. Kanan recognised it.

“Not much space to move to,” Kanan said jauntily, raising an eyebrow, even though the man behind him couldn’t see it.

“If you try, you will be dead.”

“I’ve never been a fan of dead, Agent Kallus,” Kanan said. “But seriously since you’re going to kill me anyway, I really need to pee. So could you either shoot me first or…?”

Kallus made a disgusted noise and jabbed him in the back with the blaster, shoving him towards the head. “Don’t close the door,” he warned, and Kanan rolled his eyes. “And no force tricks.”

“I don’t need the force to pee, Kallus.”

The agent made another disgusted noise, and Kanan allowed himself another small smile. “Do your business,” Kallus said. “Then we talk.”

Thanks to years of not being too fussed about where he “did his business” as Kallus put it, Kanan was finished in the head in a couple of seconds. Washing his hands, he turned back to see the Imperial agent still watching him, with a blaster trained on Kanan’s chest. The war staff that so enraged Zeb was nowhere to be seen, and Kanan wondered what on earth the agent was even doing here. A graze on one temple hinted that he may well have been involved in the firefight back on the Star Destroyer, although Kanan thought he would have noticed the man even amidst all the other Imperial grunts and hapless stormtroopers.

“Is this your shuttle, Kallus?” Kanan asked. “Did I seriously steal it from you while you were napping?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kallus snapped. “I took shelter here during the firefight that your _friends_ started. It was simple misfortune that I happened to be aboard when you stole it.”

“You say misfortune, I disagree,” Kanan said, moving towards a crate. Kallus frowned and jabbed the blaster at him but Kanan ignored him and sat, shrugging. “If you’d stayed on the Star Destroyer you’d be dead. Thing was rigged to blow in less than a minute after we jumped to hyperspace. So. Should be _well_ and truly gone by now.”

Kanan was pushing it, and he knew it, but there really was something delightful about making Kallus snarl. He stretched out, making himself as comfortable as he could against the bulkhead, and waited.

“You and your friends have caused me more than enough trouble these past months,” Kallus said. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.”

“Wellll, it might not be a very good one, and how do I know you won’t just get angry and shoot me any way?”

“Believe me, I’m tempted.”

“How about the fact that when we pop out of hyperspace at the other end of this jump I have to transmit a code to my ship within thirty seconds or they’ll assume I’m hostile and blow me out of the sky?”

One of Kallus’ perfect eyebrows raised. “You’re meeting your ship?”

“No, I’m flying to Coruscant to hand myself in,” Kanan said. “Hera threw me out because my socks smelled.”

“Perhaps they grew tired of your flippant attitude.”

“Mine’s hardly the most flippant on _that_ ship,” Kanan muttered. 

“I could make you alter the hyperspace coordinates,” Kallus said. “Take you into custody. I know that Grand Moff Tarkin is quite keen to renew his acquaintance with you.”

Kanan felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Sure, he’d spent most of his time on Mustafar in the gentle hands of the Inquisitor — a man who was now reduced to his component atoms in a star somewhere because he was too frightened to face whatever fate awaited a failed dark force user, but Tarkin was, in his own way, as terrifying as the Sith Lord on Lothal had been. He had no desire to meet with the moff again.

But it wasn’t as though Kanan didn’t have resources.

He took a deep breath. Two years ago, even one, the sort of fine control over the force that would be needed for what he was about to try would probably have been impossible. Now, he had enough confidence in his abilities to be able to reach out through the force without even closing his eyes, finding the navigation computer, and squeezing _just_ the right amount.

Kallus was well trained, Kanan had to give him that. The small spark, the puff of smoke that signified the end of their ability to control where the shuttle emerged from hyperspace only made him flick his eyes towards the cockpit, so quickly that anyone who wasn’t waiting for it would have missed it.

Luckily for Kanan, he had been waiting for it, and he leapt forward, buoyed by the force, and drove Kallus into the floor of the tiny cargo bay, knocking his blaster out of his hand.

“Sorry, Kallus,” Kanan said, grinning. “But I’m going home.”


End file.
